Three For a Girl
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Be careful what you wish for, because it may just come true. Ceil learns this the hard way, and now, Elizabeth goes missing. {Elizabeth/Ciel/Sieglinde. Mild Elizabeth/Sebastian}.
1. The Wish she Makes

**I own nothing. All rights go to Yana.**

 **And for those few who might be wondering, this series will have nothing to do with _The Book of Damnation._ It's completely separate. **

**Other WARNINGS: Manga canon-divergence, clear mature content, dark themes. You know, the usual stuff with all my Kuro. fics. **

* * *

_Careful the wish you make,_

 _Wishes are children._

 _Careful the path they take_

 _Wishes come true,_

 _Not free_

 **.**

 **—** Into the Woods

* * *

 **I**

When she cancels everything else away in her mind, and forgets she's almost eighteen now, and the rest of it all narrows down to one mere thought, Elizabeth knows one thing for sure.

She has one final decision to make before it's too late.

Just as a tree can grow from a seed, countless rings of complications can spread from that one action in time.

She doesn't even tell her mother or her father she plans on going into hiding. They're too known, too involved. Clearly they hold the potential of becoming laughingstocks of the Noble community if she doesn't chance it and leap one step ahead of everyone else, and does it soon.

She settles on useful isolation. Pure solitude is what she needs right now. Privacy is key...

Summoning up the nerve to show up at Edward's chamber door this early is tricky. She knocks three steady times, letting him know it's only her.

The handle clicks sharply in the shadowy silence surrounding her, but Edward is quieter still, and he doesn't utter a further sound as he peers at her through the crack.

"I need your help," she says. "Please, brother. Forgive me. Help me."

She half-expects him to turn her away and scold her for waking him like this. After all, the usual trust between them really hasn't felt the same lately; it's been torn at the edges ever since that morning when he found her heaving over the toilet and she had begged him not to tell Ciel about it. Edward cannot stand secrets, big dark secrets, the kind that make people act totally unlike themselves. Secrets like that one she has been holding in for the last month.

Though, luckily, for some glorious reason he seems to be more in a more placid mood right now. "What for?"

"House Briar."

Edward blinks, then nods once in understanding, and he makes a fair effort to get dressed straightway for travel.

The two of them slip down to the stables afterwards. Edward fastens the saddle buckles tightly onto his bronze coated horse, then turns back around to lead their other prancing stallion out by the spare pair of reins. Her usual horse is white and speckled with grey. Edwards fits the bit into the stallion's mouth and pats his neck, eyeing her sternly. "Are you certain you can sit in a horse in your condition?"

Elizabeth just gathers up her underskirts, lifting her left leg up before Edward offers her helpful push. "Yes, Edward, I'll be fine."

"Briar's an hour ride from here at least, if not more through this fog."

"Then, please, let's leave swiftly before the stable boys come and see us sneaking out. We're practically _stealing_ father's horses like this."

Edward doesn't delay.

The countryside stretching out ahead of them is beautiful as it always is, the hills are emerald green and plentiful. Yet the trees are filled with fog like Edward said they'd be and the songbirds are not to be heard so far. The only sound they can hear is simply horse hooves tapping against rock.

Edward eventually kicks forward and levels his horse with hers after they cross over the third farm bridge, turning north. "How long will you seal yourself away from the public, sis?"

"As long as I must," Elizabeth muses. But she catches him shaking his head at the thought. "Edward," she then states more earnestly in response, "either way...I've would've been able stay. How could I?"

"Though what if Ciel—"

Elizabeth won't have any of that. She cuts him off instantly to remind him, "Ciel is no longer my priority! And I am not his. He married Sieglinde. That is it, it's done. It was the Queen's order to withdraw our prior engagement. It's not in _my_ power to change her mind about it now. So please, brother...say no more about it. I need to make my peace with that and find something more than Ciel and Sieglinde to focus on."

Edward gulps down his riling bitterness and Elizabeth can still feel his glare simmering through her skin, his eyes lowering down to her waistline.

"Well, dear sister...once we get to House Briar, you will."

"Yes, I suppose I will, won't I?"

"...Have any names in mind?"

Elizabeth sighs. "No, not yet."

* * *

Sieglinde becomes distracted by the wheels of Sebastian's approaching trolley, thus the book she holds open in her lap is briefly forgotten. She flutters her long dark lashes up at him. "Hello, Sebastian."

He bowed his head in greeting. "Countess Phantomhive, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Is having a cup of tea a gesture of lustful seduction here?"

The butler bats his own eyes down at her once, feeling irked beneath the surface, but he forces out a tight smile in its place. "Not at all, Countess Phantomhive. It's a simple offering."

Mollified, Sieglinde sets her book aside upon the table afterwards. "Oh. Well, alright. I want a lot of sugar too, Sebastian."

"Of course."

She watches his gloved hands work with the fancy utensils sprawled before him for a few long moments until she decides to test what he truly knows about public affairs. "Say, Sebastian..."

He glances at her from the side, regarding her curious expression. "Yes, Countess?"

"I heard something today...," she presses on carefully, "...when I went to that women's meeting."

"Oh?"

"You see...Lady Elizabeth was not there, which is odd for her I gathered. She hasn't been seen in quite some time actually and her mother's not so eager to discuss it either, which is even odder to the rest of the women. And now there are rumors however that claim Elizabeth is...ah, in simplest terms...public exile. She's being avoided. And these women seem to suspect that the feeling might be mutual."

"Mutual?"

"Yes, that's right. They are under the impression that Elizabeth is keeping her distance from all of us on _purpose_ , as if she's hiding something." She persists. "It's silly, isn't it? And quite sad. Poor Elizabeth. She's not like that. She's one of the sweetest girl I've ever known, and I've only met her twice."

Sebastian hands her the polished teacup filled with the perfected dark surgery drink that tastes like liquid candy rather than real tea, then he straightens out his waistcoat, looking towards the open windowpane with subtle suspicions of his own. "Yes...how quite."

* * *

Francis tries to conceal her own worry over the matter; it's what she does best anyhow. She has lost several close family members throughout her lifetime; her brother, her mother, her sister-in-law, her beloved grandparents, and eventually those losses have only made her smarter, stronger. For the sake of who she has left to care for in this world, she does not herself fall to pieces. But...when she lost Elizabeth by _choice_ and not by death, it had put a fresh dent in her pride, because what sort of decent mother would _want_ to wake one morning unaware to discover that her youngest offspring (and her only daughter) has ran off alone, and now, she refuses to let herself be caught.

Edward at least, is in the know about Elizabeth's secretive plans, and Francis does find _some_ comfort in that. Edward is an impeccable older brother and he devotedly protects Elizabeth even when she might not need it. He's a true Lord Knight through and through. Although, it's been a few weeks now without a single clue to help them understand more about what has happened to her, and Springtide is almost over. Francis grows restless under her bones and finally, she demands her son to explain.

After that day, he arrives back home at a very late hour during the night and tells her Elizabeth has sent word at her request, in a letter, carried by Edward's hand only. They go into the study together and lock the twin oak doors behind them.

In the letter, her daughter describes how distance is her last strand of hope now. It's the only safe-shield she has left. Francis breaths softly in relief, sinking down into her armchair behind the desk.

Elizabeth's alive, and she's still in the country, surviving day to day as much as she needs to. Good, good, all of that is very good news. But, Francis cannot help wondering why House Briar?

That old far-off mansion planted along the forest's edge hasn't been touched by mankind in God knows how long. Perhaps a decade, perhaps two decades, or three. As far as she can recall from her own childhood, that marble-pillared building was overgrowing with vines and moss since then, and the tree roots were starting to coil underneath the floorboards. Weeds and burrs grew through the cracks in the walls.

Francis may apprehend how Elizabeth came to the conclusion that _privacy is key_ , and House Briar is ignored and secluded...and she may not even favor Elizabeth leaving home without telling her and Alexis first...nevertheless, she still tries to ration out how is House Briar is the better place for raising a new generation of Midfords opposed to _here_ , under the security of their own family roof?

* * *

Edward is second-guessing this whole arrangement again, just like his father and mother have been doing too on the sidelines. As a man, he knows Elizabeth will be stubborn as women all are really, and she won't leave House Briar so easily now that she's making it her own nesting lair. Her new home. But as her brother, he just cannot eat away his own fears for her, devour them down and say they're gone forever.

They'll always come back to haunt him sooner or later.

* * *

Elizabeth's still wading through the crumbling rubble of her broken dreams and loyalty to Queen Victoria since the enforced marriage of Ceil and Lady Sieglinde suddenly took place instead.

No matter what Elizabeth tells her brother though, Edward comes riding out to House Briar quite frequently yet; nearly every two days or so. He brings Paula back with him one night and he instructs her to remain silent about Elizabeth's whereabouts for now, and just be there to help Elizabeth with whatever she needs. Nothing more, nothing less.

The three of them end up having dinner together seven times a week.

Paula has so many questions about Elizabeth however, and she supposes that when this is all over it won't be such a bad thing after all, right? Hopefully in the next elven months or so, Lady Elizabeth can return to the heart of English Society and everything will feel normal again. And as these open fantasies keep falling out of her naïve mouth over tonight's meal, both Elizabeth and Edward start to notice that Paula may just become their weakest link.

"Milady," she tuts again in Elizabeth's direction, "Master Phantomhive certainty can't treat you any differently! His duty to you won't be tainted by his marriage! You are family after all, and that's—"

"No!" Edward snaps at her, almost roaring out the word. Elizabeth flinches in her seat and her fingers instinctively tightened around the silver spoon she's holding. She doesn't look up at him, or Paula. She just waits. "Everything has changed, Paula! Elizabeth can't have that life anymore. She has accepted that, and I have too with her help, and now you must accept it. This right here, is real, it's going to happen. And we can't afford to waste time building our future on false hopes."

"I—I—ah—my apologies, sir, I meant no offense. I just thought—"

"He's right, Paula," Elizabeth adds on finally. Her voice is hard and soft at once. "We need to play it smart, and we need to be prepared for this in every single way we possibly can. Right here, this is what you should see. This is what you need open your eyes to. Don't delusion yourself to anything more."

Paula has suddenly stopped breathing. It takes her a shaky moment to realize this and she blink her eyes, inhaling sharply. "Alr-right. I understand."

"Thank you." Edward tells her, calming himself. He shifts back against his wooden chair that tends to creak under his masculine figure.

Paula bows her head back down over her half-eaten plate. "Although, if...I may still speak, sir...you ought to consider your sister's health during the days to come. I'm trained somewhat as a midwife's assistant, but she'll need a proper medic during the birth."

"Edward's looking for the right one." Elizabeth reassures her instantly; her coolness melting away into a pool of pity for Paula's confusion. "As I said, we need to be prepared. And we will be."

"And...what about _your_ parents, you two?" Paula tries her luck again, risking becoming the victim to the Midford tempter again within that same thread of conversation. "They need to be prepared too."

Elizabeth is obligated to confess that, "We...still aren't telling them all of the real specifics yet. Just where I've been staying, and that I'm unexpectedly with child."

"It's a bit unsafe to tell them anything else than that," Edward explains moreover. "They can't become a scandal either. Not while they're right under the Queen's nose."

Paula gasps loudly at Edward's remark. "Oh, surely the Queen's not so heartless as to shun your father and mother. She's not to blame for this."

Edward shakes his head and sighs deeply. "The Queen did her part, Paula, and she knows it. Trust me. She knew withdrawing Elizabeth's previous engagement would hurt our family in some way or another. But that's just politics."

* * *

Elizabeth stays awake in her new bedchambers, feeling lonely and guilty, also drained by the physical swelling of her belly.

At times like these, she still has a hard believing that _this_ is where her life has led to. She rings her hands together in a dazed contemplation.

Maybe it immediately started when Queen Victoria had changed her civil strategies, to keep her enemies guessing, and thus, her loyal Watch Dog was left with but one choice. For the sake of maintaining appearances, his duty, and conquering those enemies, he needed to obey, and Sieglinde became more valuable piece for them to maneuverer.

But, perhaps, Elizabeth's fate _really_ began to unravel right when the Ciel had ordered his pitch-black butler to ride out in his place and give her that Royal Letter of Apologies.

Or, possibly, this unplanned pregnancy happened during her dramatic episode of surprise and anguish, and in a chain reaction, the mass of stars overhead had all shifted together behind the master design of all things that make up the whole Universe. That day is blurry in the back of her mind, to no avail. There are holes left in the events that occurred after she read that letter in front of Sebastian.

She at best, does remember making that certain wish she should have not said out loud then, for somehow, it came true, and with a very notable price.

When she falls asleep later on, tossing around in her sheets, Elizabeth already dreams of what the baby will most likely look like; she sees vague flashes of a little pale face, slender and smooth, unspoiled by moles or birthmarks, along with two eyes darker than hers, and a full head of crow-black hair.

* * *

Her fourth month of pregnancy mark arrives.

It's a cloudy, stormy afternoon, and Elizabeth jolts awake from another nap, all achy and sweaty. There are three steady knocks upon the front door downstairs, signaling it's Edward. They come again after few more moments of waiting. Elizabeth's heart skips a beat as it hits her.

Throwing back the covers, she flings herself forward and grabs her robe, willing her body to shake off the sleep as she descends the front staircase quickly.

Edward's eager to get inside where it's warm and dry as soon as she unlocks the door for him. "Elizabeth, where on earth is Paula?"

"I sent her home last night." Elizabeth acknowledges, watching him shrug off his jacket. He's soaked down through his vest to his shirt. "She hasn't been able to see her poor elderly mother lately, so I told her to return in two days time."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"She won't tell anyone, Edward. She swore!"

"No, I meant, what if you were to need something? What if something went wrong?"

Elizabeth's blood runs cold. She wants to tell him, _something already has already gone wrong_ , _brother,_ but instead her mouth remains clamped shut and after an instant of reconsideration, she asks him, "Why are you here today, and riding out in the rain at that? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow!"

"...I'll light a fire," Edward merely decides, heading into the mainly-empty drawing room. "You should hear this."

Elizabeth immediately follows in his tracks. "Hear what?"

"I know you want very little to do with Ciel presently...but this is important, sis. This is big."

Therefore, the two Midford siblings settle down beside each other on the small settee Edward had managed to bring her by rope and carriage recently, wrapping themselves in matching knitted quilts. Their silhouettes are outlined by the blazing fireplace as they dive into the latest talk of the Queen's Court—which is about special bloodlines—and their goal in preserving those bloodlines.

The Queen is now ordering Ciel and Sieglinde to produce heirs.

Edward clarifies that as Victoria's English Empire spreads further into India, Ireland, and improves on the African Railways, she's naturally making more enemies than ever now behind the curtain. The death tolls of the native workers and servants overseas are reaching the ears of the lands' leaders. But the Queen is eager to win. In the eyes of their government, this is for the best if England still wants to use the decent trading routes they've molded out by now. Ciel's toy business is booming similarly, thanks to Sieglinde's own contacts she has on the surrounding country boarders, which ultimately, keep the Queen's profits stable too, and the power's forever in her favor.

"But there's two sides to every coin," Elizabeth comments.

Edward agrees. "Exactly. And the Queen's no fool. She knows our country could easily fall into war again if there's no one to sustain that wide web of linked profits after she's gone. That's why she's seriously encouraging Ciel to pass on his Watch Dog obligations. And Mother told me this morning that the Queen is hoping for a whole litter of newborn Phantomhives, just in case. If Sieglinde doesn't have a boy first, they're going to expect another try at it straightaway. Within the year or less."

"That could literally kill her," Elizabeth criticizes, making Edward bite his lip. "A mother's body obviously needs to heal after birth before she's ready to carry another child."

"Yes, but it's desperate times and all."

Elizabeth huffs. "For the sake of the country's power. Of course. I hope they have all the luck they need."

"...Lizzy." Edward mutters suddenly, and she knows by that tone that he wants her full and undivided attention. "Do you still love him? Ciel?"

Elizabeth pulls her quilt tighter around herself protectively, her eyes lowering. "I do...and I can't help it, brother. How do I tell my heart to stop loving?"

"But, be honest with me. Would you rather it be you in Sieglinde's place? Because, honestly, somehow I think you were the lucky one. I wouldn't want you to be there instead."

Hurt. Confusion. Fire. Sorrow. All those things rush through her veins one right after the other, and Elizabeth feels the child inside her womb give a stern kick, as if it's responding to her own reaction. Flinching, she commands herself to disregard it and look her brother straight in the eye. "Why would you say that?"

"Think about it, sis," Edward moves closer and rests his hands firmly on her shoulders. "Truly think about it. Would you want to be _forced_ into having children, within the year of each other, who were not conceived in _love_ but out of sole duty? Can you to imagine what that could do to you? Or your relationship with Ciel? Please, tell me the truth. Can you picture Ciel as a father? The father of your children? Honestly, sis, what child would want that?"

"But he—I can't even recall—what about my child, Edward?" she struggles to let her real thoughts be known. "My _real_ child, the one who's growing inside of me right now? What were they conceived out of? What will they have? Think of the father they'll know, or won't know. How is any of _this_ lucky?"

"Elizabeth, they'll have you. And that's all that should matter." Her brother vows in reply with a weighty sense of familial purpose. "They'll have you, and me."

Now, Elizabeth has to smile back at him in spite of her previous fears. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

* * *

Edward thereafter provides his sister with the helping hand of Judith Wheeler; she's a middle-aged Welsh governess who has piercing ice blue eyes, and always wears dark blue dresses with white folded collars every day. Her straight almond-brown hair a shade darker than Paula's rests in tight bun high upon her head. She's an experienced midwife as well and has preformed a dozen homebirths to account for; she promises that each of the babes she's ever known have grown healthy and clever without any physical concerns.

Elizabeth quickly learns to enjoy Judith's company too, which is naturally an added advantage. Judith is hard in the mind like her mother is. She's thorough and not easily upset by the smaller things. Even Paula admires her as a fellow caretaker. Judith's very trustworthy too because as far as Elizabeth can tell, Judith isn't concerned about the bustling society outside of House Briar. She intends to stay for the baby's sake, in secret or not.

* * *

By Elizabeth's seventh month of pregnancy, in midsummer, she remains in bed most of the day and takes short steady walks around the home each night upon Judith's instructions. Paula brings her broth soups to eat along with fresh roses plucked from the garden to brighten up the place, and Edward...well, he must deliver more unsettling news of on Sunday morning.

"Things look worse than before. The Queen herself has been asking about you," he says. "She noticed that you're not coming to any balls or charity functions with Mother anymore. At all. Ciel also says it's strange, even for you."

"Wait. Ciel's been wondering about me?" Elizabeth blinks up at her bother, genuinely confused. Edwards stands there rigidly, nodding. "Surely they don't care where I am, brother. They have what they want."

Her words cause Edward to rake his nails over his head and he turns around to pull the waiting chair closer to the edge of her bed. "Lizzy, listen...Mother and Father are getting more and more worried. I can see it. They want to protect you, yes, but they cannot disobey the Queen's Court without serious consequences. The Queen would like you to marry someone else soon, of the government's choosing...perhaps even Charles Gray, from what I've heard. And your future children will be paired off with Ciel's, so that way, our bloodline remains consistent. Dominant."

"No. No." This is too much. This makes Elizabeth want to scream. "No! I have to protect this child! Edward, you know I just can't—ah! Ouch!" Her shouting is cut off and Elizabeth clutches her stomach, hissing in pain as the inner fire returns and it feels like it's _burning_ her womb within.

Thankfully, the sizzling sensation is fleeting. It fades as soon as Edward reaches for trembling hand, holding it in both of his tightly, whispering his apology. "I know. I know. Elizabeth. Calm yourself. Breathe. Don't make the baby restless. I am telling you this to create a new plan."

Judith steps in when the timing feels right to her. "Master Edward, please sir, I think it's time to let her rest until you return tomorrow."

"Yes alright, Judith, thank you."

* * *

Alexis hears from Edward again at dawn when he returns from House Briar after two more weeks of this scheme sail by.

The first couple of nights, his son had practically crept out of the house like a trained thief to visit his sister. Edward knew when to leave, too. He always vanished whenever the they were sleeping or had appointments in London City. Nowadays he's become the family's personally messenger boy, traveling back and forth between homes, being the only source of live contact they have with Elizabeth.

But the Queen's Court has been acting wary of Elizabeth's long absence. Pointed speculations are stirring, wondering if she's planning some form of revenge by siding with Victoria's rivals overseas. Naturally, Alexis and his wife have assured everyone that Elizabeth has no such diversion to play. She hasn't even left England's soil. Though that's just as fickle to prove when people would rather gossip about her and Elizabeth still refuses to go public her dilemma.

Alexis strolls out back and catches up with his son within the stables saddling up the two same horses again. "...Your mother is going with you today, yes?"

Edward nods. "She is, Father."

"...I like these stallions," Alexis tells him in another instant of private reflection. "They were easy to break from the start, and yet, they enjoy running free while they can. I watched them being born and they've both grown into proper animals I can value and trust. I'd hate to lose them."

"Father," Edward sympathizes, grasping the subtle metaphor. "it's going to be fine. We'll think of something, we always do. We never back down. We're Midfords."

Still, Alexis can only turn his head and gaze towards the northern horizon, feeling something akin to homesickness. "I just miss her."

"She misses you," Edward promises in correlation.

"Edward, son, would she...would she betray the Queen for her child?"

"Would you?"

For a father like Alexis, the very sun set and rose on the two children he's created. There is no humanly force stronger than his love for them. "Yes," he declares.

Francis suddenly appears behind Edward and breaks the rising tension. She's all bathed and neatly dressed in her own work boots and riding uniform.

"Be safe, darling," Alexis says fondly as he waves them goodbye.

* * *

The long-overdue reunion between mother and daughter bring tears of relief to Elizabeth's eyes, and for a moment, the three Midfords sit there in silence with Edward sitting on one side of Elizabeth's bed and with Francis sitting directly on the other side, embracing her tightly.

Hours later, the heavy current of emotions evens out again and Elizabeth's eyelashes are now dried while she sips at the warm herbal tea Francis has made for her herself and listens to reason.

"On one hand," her mother points to both her and Edward, "it's supposed to be your choice. Though...on the other hand, I don't think a woman could really call it a choice at all. Queen Victoria wants her required bloodlines to be set in stone; and even if though it makes her uneasy about it, she insists they be children through you too, and those children will breed with Ciel's one day, similar to what was planned before his other girl-bride showed up. It's really The Queen's way...of making up for your loss, I reckon. The problem is though, they don't know where you are, or why you're really gone."

"So...," Elizabeth starts hoarsely, "no matter what I want to do or say, I'll be pushed into marriage?"

Her mother smirks with visible sarcasm. "If they're thick enough to try it."

"And if I humbly decline the Queen's request and tell her the truth, then I'll be charged with treason?"

"Worse." Edward imagines grimly. "No one will want anything to do with a butler's secret love child. The child may be shipped off to the Asylum to be kept of out of sight and kept silent. And your future husband will be forced to make you forget it ever happened once you start having legitimate children with him. I mean, you don't remember how you got pregnant in the first place. They might use that information to their own advantage."

"Edward, please, that's a little harsh," Francis scolds briefly. "We have to know that Queen Victoria is not the villain in this case. She is acting on the greater good's behalf. We must not England fall to another empire's control."

Elizabeth doesn't understand what side her mother's truly on. "Then...you are going to make me leave House Briar after the child is born? _"_

Chuckling, Francis leans in and tips up her daughter's drooping chin to meet her eyes. And she speaks softly now—and shrewdly—as if Francis knew she was getting away with something. "As a Knight of England's Cavalier, I would tell you to make that sacrifice for your own safety, but here, alone, as your mother and nothing else...I'm personally suggesting that you should continue using House Briar as your best playing card."

"How?" Elizabeth and Edward chime in together.

"They don't want you to hide, Elizabeth! You are not an old maid tossed aside! You are not shunned because Ciel did not marry you! You are still desired! They need your womb! You are the hidden gem they're all searching for! They will bait you to return with whatever they can use. They want you to be happy and be willing to do what they say. But, how can they do that when you're _unhappy_?"

"I see," Edward is suddenly to follow their mother's train of thought and it makes his expression to shift into something slightly more mischievous. "Elizabeth can use her value and bait them instead. She can stall however long it takes and force them to make every compromise she desires in exchange for her consent to be married; and ha-ha, it's Checkmate!"

Elizabeth understands now too; she realizes the new degree of power she can have over the Queen's Court if she just keeps on making all the right moves and just doesn't stumble after this. "Mother," she mutters plainly, "that is perfectly deceitful. That _has_ to be treason."

"Would you rather give in, then?"

No, not necessarily. Elizabeth doesn't want to seem like such a coward, but she does not know what she'd _say_ if London City would see her waltzing in suddenly with a newborn carried on her hip.

Although, there is something about being with child that changes how a mother sees her whole role in life. She knows those things now. Her own maternal instincts have already been flourishing to new heights these days, and she's becoming a new woman who has to eat, sleep, and survive for two, and with each passing month, awaiting the actual birth, she gets more attached to the child inside of her. And as biased as it sounds, Elizabeth can sense her child will be someone... _special._

"No, Mother. I can't give in yet."

Francis clutches her hand. "So be it."

* * *

Francis, Edward, and Paula take charge in cleaning the entire house up. They dust the off shelves, sweep the wood floors, wash the sheets, and carry in the new pieces of furniture which Alexis somehow managed to (discreetly) send out their way.

House Briar will be a glorious, welcoming space for the child to get used to.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Judith busy themselves accenting the nursery walls and their bassinette with pillows, toys, and other sweet trinkets of soft yellows and pale blues.

Elizabeth herself is always drowsy though now, and she just feels... _large,_ and a bit moody too, so Judith comes into her chambers one night handing her a dairy that has not been written in yet. In her professional opinion, it'll be quite beneficial to Elizabeth, because she already has so many stressful details fret about besides the baby. The journal will be for eyes only and she can write whatever she needs to. It's a ingenious and healthier way to shed some of that anxiety off her, to put it all down on paper and leave it there. And, Elizabeth takes to the idea without difficulty. She sits up in her bed each night and each morning, scribing her whole story down no matter how ridiculous it may look in words. She writes about the feelings she can't express out loud, theories she has about love and other things she can't explain. She marks down her memories of the old Ciel, and shares the fears she has had about the older Ciel. She retells that strange night that Sebastian and her just happened to the _unthinkable_...how it was completely unplanned...and it didn't make any real sense, for she blacked out, and time seemed to stop around them...and how it felt as if they were bewitched, and it wasn't until the next morning when Sebastian had fled, did they both realize what had occurred between them.

Overtime, the pages of that dairy become yellowed, wrinkled and used, stained with ink and tears, and they grow denser with childhood riddles and motherly worries and untold tales that have never reached another's ear.

* * *

Elizabeth's halfway through her ninth month when Royal Letters of Requests start coming to the Midford Manor door, personally via a regal-clad deliverer. Alexis accepts them and he passes them onto Edward, who gives them to Paula on the porch of House Briar, who goes up and offers them to Judith and Elizabeth to read.

Elizabeth asks for Judith's own insight on this topic tonight, curious to know what would _she_ really say if it were herself in her place? The governess exhales and admits that she is a bit disappointed in the government, frankly. This Era of Victorians is supposed to be about moving forward in traditions, ideas, medicine, construction, and science. And if England would rather still encourage this Old World practice...this compulsive molding of relationships in order to breed women like mares for the sake of their land's wealth, then what would that say about the English people in another hundred years or so? It's hypercritical.

Judith goes on to tell Elizabeth how she was in fact, one of _those_ children. Judith is merely one of ten siblings total back in Wales. She actually has four older sisters of her own who are hardly one year older than the next, and then she has one younger sister that came eleven months after herself. Finally, the three prized brothers came last.

Forget disappointed, Elizabeth could say that Judith sounds downright revolted by the idea. She's almost afraid to ask, "...And your mother?"

"Died in childbirth during the last one, which was Henry." Judith confirmed, sensing that question had to be coming. "None of us like to accuse Father of anything in his presence, but the truth is, we all saw how he was breeding our mother right down to her last breath."

Elizabeth gapes at her. No wonder Judith has such a strong opinion about this topic when it's so personal for her. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Father grieved her death though." Judith shakes her head. "But not for the reasons we thought were right. He lost his fertile wife and he feared his lack in sons. It...almost became an obsession for him. His second wife, our stepmother, Kitty, only birthed one more boy for him, Jacob, two years after Mother's funeral. She gifted him with a boy straightaway, but that was the only successful—yet difficult birth. She wasn't made for that, and she spoke up for herself after Father tried to practically rape her right after Jacob's first birthday. She let our father know how wrong it felt. If he wanted a full employee line of his own, then he should makes us girls work too. In our own ways, we are all grateful for Kitty. She was feisty in ways our mother wasn't. She looked out for all of us. It was because of her, I'm here today as a skilled governess, making sure other families _are_ family. And happy."

Elizabeth's frown then lifts into a contented smile, feeling relieved to hear Judith did have somewhat of happy ending. However, the vile nature of Judith's backstory only reminds Elizabeth where she is right now and she is constantly wondering how _this_ story will end. She lets out another short breath, her hands falling over the wide pale curve of her belly. "So...with that out in the open...what do you think of children who are birthed outside of love and marriage?"

"Things happen, Elizabeth," Judith says, unfazed. "We have our plans sometimes...but the Good Lord has his. Have faith."

"Faith," echoes Elizabeth, quite miserably, "Certainty. Having answers. Trust. Those things have escaped me for the moment."

Judith folds over the quilt to tuck her in more securely. "Doubt is natural. Just keep rethinking the new things you'll have. No child should be called a mistake."

"What about the parents, then? Are they the true mistakes? ...Judith, what if my child comes to me one day, asking about how I met their father and how it led to giving birth to them—and the only response I'll ever have for them is— _I can't remember how it happened, love, so just go play_?"

"Why not stop worrying about what you _can't_ remember, and make _your own_ memories that count for something? That child is going to be your most significant memory yet to have, Elizabeth, no matter what has happened in the past. It's up to you in how you will show that to them. Children listen, they see more than you realize. They know what's good and what's bad in your life. And sometimes, they're afraid to learn it's them. Don't let the regret poison you against them."

* * *

Edward is cornered by the Indian Prince at the Opera House one night. Without warning or invitation, Soma comes over and sinks down next to him. Regardless, Edward's grateful that if he's going to be harassed by a royalty figure, it's Soma, and not Queen Victoria herself who is currently sitting by herself up in the third balcony, which is shielded by thick red curtains. Edward doesn't dare to look in her direction, dreading what would happen if he would.

He can handle Soma...or he thinks he can handle Soma.

The Prince is a vigorous character who has a lot of natural energy to release, meanwhile all of his sister-secret-keeping has basically drained Edward of his own.

Soma's troubled over Elizabeth too, and Edward repeatedly nods along in empathy. Soma used to call Elizabeth his _little sister_ , and slyly he murmurs into Edwards's ear that it's a real shame that she's not here anymore. He likes her far better than Sieglinde.

With that, they both slant over a little bit to the left together to spy on Ceil and Sieglinde settled in a few more rows ahead of them, their eyes watching the stage and nothing else. But when the black butler begins to turn his head, Edward and Soma immediately lean straight back into their seats, pretending they're not guilty of anything. Edward senses Ciel must be trying to avoid an awkward encounter with him likewise.

They haven't spoken directly to each other since Edward was roped into showing up at the wedding.

* * *

Francis was rearranging Elizabeth's back pillows for her while the late summer breeze blows in, causing the lace curtains to sway sideways. "...Mother, what is it like? Seeing your child for the first time?

"Any day now, Elizabeth, you will hold your own child in your arms when they're born, and then you tell me."

"She."

Her mother stops, surprised. "What?"

"She," Elizabeth empathizes.

"How do you know it's a girl?"

"When I woke up this morning, Mother, there were three crows just sitting there calmly...upon the windowsill, not making a sound. And that made me remember that old nursery rhyme you used to sing to me about crows. One's for sorrow, two for joy, _three_ for a girl...and so on."

"It's a just silly saying based upon old superstitions, Elizabeth."

Aye, that might be so, but Elizabeth is in the right position to believe in some old superstitions now she hasn't before. "Well, sometimes silly things happen, Mother."

* * *

Ciel and Sieglinde don't fit together so perfectly.

It's officially their first time tonight, and it's...in one word, awkward. But they try. Their noses collide, their lips don't really align when she leans in, and their hips meet at a mildly odd angle. She's a harmless, strange, but pleasant girl who was born to the woods, who belongs to wolves, and she starts off slow beneath him. But eventually her hands find their way around his neck, her fingers explore his hair, the pad of her thumb runs across the black fabric of his patch. Her body is something new and unfamiliar to him, sure and soft, yet she's not that more experienced than him—so, frankly, Ciel finds some form of satisfaction in that fact.

Though, still, as the heat and the friction builds between them, his thoughts start to drift elsewhere and he has this fleeting image of Elizabeth. He wonders about her during the day more times than he desires to. Where is she? How was she? What would she say if she knew—

Sieglinde's panting now. It feels a bit better, a little more physical. His hand grips the blue silk beneath her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers into his shoulder after another short thrive of her torso.

And although he's not quite sure what she's apologizing for, he still just breathes back, "I know."

* * *

Paula's not the best rider when it comes to fast trotting or open-country running, so for her to come rushing into the courtyard on All Hallows Eve on Edward's stallion, hair wild and cheeks flushed, Alexis knows whatever she must tell them, it's urgent.

And it is.

"Your daughter's in labor," she says, chest heaving.

So after informing Francis of the situation, they all dive in the carriage this time, coached by Alexis, and quickly out to House Briar they go.

Crisp crimson leaves continue to fly across the glowing sunset and a great number of crows litter the roadside the whole way up there.

And once they eventually arrive and they dash their way inside, Francis and Paula reenter Elizabeth's chambers.

Elizabeth is screaming behind the door. Alexis stops sprinting and listens to his daughter's agony until he decides to turn away. Venturing further down the narrow hall, he finds Edward sitting on the oak bench, hunched forward, his lips pressed against his clenched fists. He jumps out of his nervous trance when his father pats his shoulder, taking a seat next to him. "Father...you came."

"I did."

Edward exhales and glances at the ceiling in thought. "She's been like that for four hours, Father. What's taking so long?"

"Patience, Edward, patience." Alexis advises, not knowing what else he could say but that. "Childbirth is different for all women. It takes time...that part is normal."

"Before Paula was able to ride out to tell you...she said Elizabeth was running a fever. Her skin was usually very warm and there was bloodloss...Elizabeth even fainted during the process. It took them three full minutes to wake her in order to continue for the baby's sake. Is that normal?"

"Edward, this is your sister. I know she always seems so sweet and innocent, but—"

"—but she's a Midford, I know." Edward fills in on instinct. "She won't give in even if it kills her."

Alexis gulps, tracing his large hand over his beard. "Precisely."

By midnight, however, it's finally finished.

The small, damp baby girl Elizabeth embraces tightly to her chest cries the through the night and then cries nonstop through the next morning.

That constant choppy, short, cawing sound becomes a bit grating to the ear if Edward has to admit it.

"Well?" he comments over the fussing; for the stronger part of his conscience is just pleased to see them both alive. "What is her name?"

"Melania!" Elizabeth half-shouts in response, shifting the baby's head over her arm. "Melania Grace Francis Midford."

Edward presumes Elizabeth named her that because of her evident hair color, and it's definitely not the typical Midford gold-blonde. No, Melania has Greek origins, referring to something _black_ or _dark_.

After a while, when midnight creeps in over House Briar once more, the wailing ceases. Just like that, oddly enough, and little Melly Grace (as Edward already likes to call her instead) doesn't cry again.

* * *

Five days later Sebastian is stirring Ciel's afternoon tea when he feels a quiet _pull_ , a phantom tug from within herself. Pausing briefly, he sets the matching spoons and painted teapot back down, having this unexplainable urge to walk up to the window. He peers out beyond the glass, pondering what he's supposed to be seeing, if anything is there to see.

As his gaze slowly lifts upwards, he notices the large black feathery cloud of crows flitting north.

"Sebastian...what is it?" the boy asks, curiously.

"Nothing, Milord," drones the butler, facing him again. "Just a murder of crows."

Ciel scoffs. "A what?"

"A flock of cows, Milord, it's actually called a _murder_."

"Hm." Ciel rests his cheek against his palm. "That's appropriate."

* * *

It's winter. Christmas is pending and London City is in a seasonal frenzy, collecting gifts and preparing their feasts, singing corals.

And surprisingly, besides that, not only did the Midford party _not_ attend Queen Victoria's anneal celebration as they usually would...they've sent Paula to arrive in their stead, escorted by Double Charles, and she comes in humbly handing over a scroll formally addressed to the Queen Victoria.

The Queen accepts it, unties the ribbon, and begins to read. She skims over the scroll twice before she reconsiders her options, then beckons Ciel to her side and she tells him to take a look at it as well:

 _To whomever this may Royally concern,_

 _The Lady Elizabeth is well, I'll assure you of that much, but if I am to be honest before the Queen herself, she feels rattled and anxious about the new arrangements. As her private medic, I cannot help but wonder if she would be better off, for her sake, to remain here at her current location, House Briar, in which her family members now officially support financially. It's in the new deed. Therefore, if Elizabeth does consider returning to the social circles of the Queen, I will have be sure that the Court's need for her is greater than her own. Again, I am only concerned for her state of health and her fragile mind at the moment, and nothing more than that. Until she makes her true and final decision without any forced disturbances, I will watch over her._

 _Sincerely, Elizabeth's right-hand and medic,_

 _J. W._

When Ciel is done evaluating this message himself, he looks up at Queen Victoria, wetting his lips quick. "What would like me to do with this, Your Majesty?"

Victoria sighs. "Poor girl. Elizabeth must be having a hard time with this. Perhaps I need to have my Court approach this current manner is more subtle way..."

"Perhaps it's this medic who needs to be more subtle," Ciel frowns upon the scroll then, passing it onto Sebastian who follows suit. "The nerve they have writing to you in this way..."

There's a pause, although the Queen speaks up again. "Perhaps; but I'm not angry with them. How I could be? I know about Lady Elizabeth. She has a good heart. Unless...as her cousin, you can tell me about bad intentions she's had in the past?"

"No, not ever." Ciel defends, unwaveringly. "Elizabeth may be...a little too extravagant, and too emotional at times. But she's not the kind of person who would have the gull to spit in the Court's face so bitterly like that, Your Majesty. She wants best for everyone. She always did _._ "

"Yes, I thought as much. Though, in the meantime, we can't just forget this ever happened either. And that is where I'd ask you for another favor?"

"Of course. My loyal service is yours, Your Majesty."

"I fear that we are on the edge of a war breaking out, as you've so heard. And the lords from overseas are threatening to revolt. I must address the issue personally straightaway before they make the first strike. Therefore, I am hoping that I can leave the written responses of this scroll to you."

"Me?"

"Yes, Young Phantomhive. Even if Elizabeth will never be your wife now...I trust that she might still listen to you. She felt close to you, correct? Perhaps you're the one who can help her move through this easier."

With that in mind, Ciel figures if he agrees then he'll have half of her royal reasonability on his shoulders. The entire future of England's bloodlines are instantly counting on him.

"...I will...do everything I can." But naturally as her Watch Dog, he bows before her and will not reject her proposal openly. He never has the liberty to do so; not by much anyway. This is what he lives for. "...Your Majesty."

Queen Victoria reacts and smiles tenderly back at him as she rises from her throne in appreciation. "Your father would be proud of you, boy."

* * *

It's been _nothing_ like the night when she was born.

Melania is now so...calm _, quiet,_ for a two-week-old newborn and it ends up making Edward feel that more apprehensive about her.

Edward keeps questioning Judith about her behavior, her lack of infant-like peeps and babble, but Judith is rightfully trained for this. She assures him that she is watching his niece very closely, and thus far, there are no signs of deformity or illness whatsoever. She claims that Melania just isn't a vocal child, who hardly squirms during the night and she's merely content with silence.

"And she still feeds on milk every day?" he lists off once again.

"Yes, without any trouble."

"And she sleeps well enough when I'm not here?"

"Yes, and when we wake her, she still doesn't seem to mind. She's ready for anything."

Edward longs for a second professional opinion about it as he bends down to pick Melania up and he begins to rock her from side to side—though even Paula who has been at his sister's side since her early childhood does not see anything physically wrong for a little girl at this age either.

Edward encourages Elizabeth to sleep the first shift that day before he goes to sit in the nursery with Melania, his fingers curled around the her whole hand. He watches her open her deep, dark brown eyes and look out the window, fixated on the abundance of crows they've had lately in these parts.

"You like those black birds, Melly Grace?" he whispers to her in a way an adult would typically talk to an infant, almost cooing at her. He soon begins to hum a few lyrics softly under his breath, and bounces Melania on his knee a few times to the long-forgotten rhythm that's suddenly reforming in his head.

 _"One crow's for sorrow, two for joy,_

 _three for a girl, four for a boy,_

 _five for silver, six for gold,_

 _seven for a secret, never to be told. Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss,_

 _ten for a bird you must not miss!"_

Melania is as soundless as ever, but she seems to find this new game of his amusing because she actually smiles a tiny girly-smile and continues eyeing the crows flying around outside. Her hand spreads wide and re-clutches around his forefinger.

Charmed by this, Edward simply keeps on nursery-rhyming too.

 _"One for sorrow, two for mirth_

 _three for a funeral, four for birth_

 _Five for Heaven, six for Hell_

 _and seven for the devil, in his own self!"_

* * *

 **(I confess that a small part of me has started shipping Ciel/Sieglinde a tiny bit, simply because I've grown very indifferent to them both, and because frankly...Lizzie deservers a lot better than Ciel anyway in my mind. Besides...Sieglinde actually turned out to be a rather useful plot device for this A.U. , in terms of who else in the manga could almost-realistically marry Ciel if it's not Lizzy?)**


	2. The Heart that Breaks

**This is really the "bridge chapter" getting the audience from point A to point B.**

* * *

 _Must it all be either less or more_

 _Either plain or grand?_

 _Is it always 'or'?_

 _Is it never 'and'?_

 ** _._**

— Into the Woods

* * *

 **II**

Edward tears open the newest letter that had arrived at his parent's earlier today and he holds it up towards the light.

 _Please let me know if the Lady Elizabeth needs anything else. She's important to the Queen. I want her return to be comfortable._

 _Ciel Phantomhive,_

 _The Queen's Watch Dog of England._

Edward glowers at the signature. Now their _cousin_ will be hounding him with questions and have his feelers out for Elizabeth? True, Ciel may know nothing about the pregnancy...and if he _did_ know _,_ he wouldn't be writing back like this Edward assumed. Ciel probably just thinks that he's simply doing his duty, nothing more. But—yet—Edward also knows his cousin can be the competitive type. And Ciel's choice of words feel like mocking slap in his face since Edward is able read between the lines. Ciel is really telling them it doesn't matter what they try. He'll get Elizabeth back one way or another.

Either way, the issue is, Ciel is inevitably, not on their side.

Edward attempts to remain civil when he stomps his way back up to his mother's desk and thumps down into her armchair there, presently pulling out Francis' favorite quill and blue-dyed ink.

He should be telling his sister about this newest letter, and his parents. He really can't afford to think so recklessly. He still needs to be the one person Elizabeth can fully trust.

Though, it's not as if he's playing Judas. This is in Elizabeth's—and, Melly Grace's—best interest.

 _I can't make the decision for her,_ he penned out quickly over the parchment, _and you can't force her. I doubt Elizabeth would want you to either. We don't want her to make a poor decision, do we?_

Paula, who's staying here in the mansion more nowadays, struts past the study, then she stops and retraces her steps. Poking her head in, she observes Edward now setteled at the Marchioness' desk writing intensely.

Sighing, she goes wandering up to his side. She doesn't have to ask what he's formatting, or to whom the finished draft will be addressed. She has her guess. She merely informs him that, "Judith wrote to me yesterday. She says our Lady Elizabeth might still be given the option of coming home and not be married—," she pauses when Edward changes his mind, scratches out what he already has scrawled down, reevaluates his opening sentence, and he leans back, listening to her, "—Melania can remain safely and unbothered at House Briar. Lady Elizabeth can go visit her whenever she can, if she can."

"I know. I've thought of that too, and Mother says it could be a smart move...but we don't think that Elizabeth will like to hear that. How can you just go about you're day and part a mother from her child for long periods of time in between?"

"You won't know what she'll think for certain until you ask her, sir."

"It's too soon to ask that of her," Edward decides regardless.

"...She's worried about the child." Paula adds.

"Why?"

"Well, because Melania is so young...and she's proven to be...ah..."

"What, abnormal?"

"She's _different_ ," Paula says, refusing to sound harsh when speaking about Elizabeth's own flesh and blood.

"Lizzy hasn't told me this."

"Of course not, sir." Paula allows her pity for him to shine through. "She won't say it so freely. And you've done so much for her already that she doesn't want you to worry about it too. She doesn't want _you_ to think less of her."

Understanding what she means, Edward excuses her gently and promises he'll go visit House Briar in the morning.

Paula leaves the study with a curt nod.

Moments pass.

Sinking further into his own private thoughts and the heavy air of privacy again, Edward glances over his scroll, then stares back at Ciel's response held flat by his other hand. And then he straightens the quill between his fingers and writes one simple little thing...

 _She's still not happy._

* * *

Sieglinde is not eleven anymore. And they say with age, comes wisdom. Then again, she could read and recite her alphabets at three, so really, her opinion on that matter is vague. She's always been a bright child. Being seventeen now means very little to her.

She knows the others around see her a bit differently, though. She's a grown woman to them, and she should _act_ seventeen. But, if she once was more five at three, and then more-so ten than eight, and then more-so twenty than seventeen now...how can she act seventeen?

She has deemed herself to be a mature-minded girl for a long time. Although back then, she was merely trying adulthood on for size.

So as a matter of fact, with everything counted and checked off, she _should_ be already set in every aspect in life.

But she isn't.

One day, she slowly backs Ciel up against the wall in the empty corridor under his father's ghostly portrait and her lips smile against his throat teasingly, playfully, and she kisses him there. Her hands clutch at his waist. Then she kisses him on the mouth, giggling.

They've been arguing the last few nights—and it's only over the small trivial things, as two people are bound to do eventually when sharing a home together—but her attempts at smoothing out the wrinkles forming between them are almost futile.

"Sieglinde," Ciel sighs, pushing her one step backwards, "here is not the best place for that...just...please, not here."

"You don't find me the least bit attractive do you?" she has to assume. And she pouts slightly.

"No, that's not—it's not like that, Sieglinde. I don't wish to offend you."

"Then, what can I do to make you trust me?"

"I _do_ trust you," Ciel vows. "I don't trust people easily, and I know that, but I do trust you. That must count for something."

"You won't touch me," she says. "Your own wife. Hardly _ever_. And the Queen says—"

"—I know what the Queen wants. I know that better than anyone."

Sieglinde pulls herself from him completely on her own with her head shaking at him and she's about to leave when Ciel grabs her wrist, coaxing her back around.

"Sieglinde. Would you like to sit in the garden with me, right now?" He doesn't say it. But Sieglinde hears the _I'm sorry_ drifting behind her words. "The sun is shining bright today and Lizzy used to love the roses blooming this time of year."

There's a thorn twisting in her gut in that instant. However, she grins widely, tightly, uneasily. "...Did she?"

"The gardens made her feel at peace," Ciel nods, "the fragrance soothed her when she was feeling troubled."

She stares at him, then allows him to lead the way. As they descend the staircase hand in hand, she catches Sebastian stepping round the corner of the landing abruptly, watching them go. Their eyes meet. His expression is unnerving and unreadable for her, so Sieglinde decides it's time to ignore him and look away.

Another week passes, and Sieglinde hears that the Lady Elizabeth is tightening her desperate grip on House Briar.

Meanwhile, she simply desires for Ciel to feel whole and stable at home. Sieglinde wants him to feel content. And she keeps trying for his sake, supporting him through this. Because she's not stupid—she just needs to find the right lever in his mind to pull on, to make an impact. She'll be there for him. He'll see that. He needs _someone_ to guide him through the wild and passionate territory of marriage. She'll be his crutch whenever he wants it. That part was _always_ understandable. They can figure it out together.

Ciel's long-lasting care and worry for his Cousin Lizzywas very endearing in the past. It proved to Sieglinde that Ciel is not entirely broken. He's just bent in some places and the stitching around his edges have been pried open by the wrong hands, but that _doesn't_ mean she can't patch him up with brand new affection.

But, presently, Sieglinde wakes up in the mornings and recalls how she's seventeen, heading straight towards turning eighteen, and how Ciel is _two_ years older than her, and how nothing is really changing for the better.

This is not a proper setting for playtime! They are not children! So, really, what are they _doing_? Playing games?

She sits up, squinting under the sunlight. The pillows shift around her as she moves and her hair spills down in long, dark heavy coils upon the blue silk beneath. She blinks once, glancing down at Ciel's resting form beside her.

"What are we doing?" she repeats, this time directly at him, out loud, gently and quietly, and she wonders what his answer would have been if he was even aware of it.

Three days after, there's a beautiful red and white party gown neatly sprawled out on their bed. Sieglinde admires the embroidery and the pattern of the sleeves when she picks it up by the shoulder pads and measures out its length from the waist down. "What's this for?" she inquires, looking back at Ciel.

"The ball tonight," Ciel explains naturally. "I think it should fit you just right. You're just about Elizabeth's size."

"Oh," she immediately drops the gown, letting it fold awkwardly into a ruffled heap back on the bed. "Of course. Yes. How thoughtful of you, Ciel dearest."

It's not too often that Ciel looks puzzled by something out in the open, but he observes her now in innocent curiosity, then, he inspects the used clothing before he approaches her side. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"I'm wondering if there is another reason you wanted me to wear this tonight?"

"What do you mean by that?"

She's still glaring down at Elizabeth's old gown that was obviously left behind here some years ago. "I just mean, why are you giving me one of _her_ gowns?"

This is when she lifts her head, green eyes clashing with one blue. The following expression on his charming face is a mixture of aggravation and defensive. "Because," he starts off slowly while trying to control his temper, "I thought you'd _appreciate_ it."

"Why?"

"Elizabeth was sharp about what's fashionable. That's why. She had good tastes." He gestures towards her half-naked self, gazing up and down at the underskirt and corset she's wearing now. "And you're always asking _me_ everyday what you should be wearing to fit in better."

"Ciel...has it ever occurred to you...that I was asking for _your_ opinion because I want to hear what you thought about my style? I want to look pretty for _you_ , not everyone else out there." Sieglinde can visibly see the change in him now. There's a pause as her words sink in fully, and Ciel's chest eventually relaxes somewhat in defeat, or it might be flattery? Either ways, the tension in the room subsides. "Tell me," she adds encouragingly, no longer feeling constricted by the thought of Lady Elizabeth. "I won't mind. Do you think _I_ will look prettier in this...or should I wear something else?"

"Wear the blue one Mina made for you last month then, if you'd like," Ciel compromises. "The one with the black ribbons and the green neckline..."

Sieglinde's lips spread into a real smile. If he remembers that many details about that dress and remembers she's the one who wore it, it must be a good sign. "Alright."

She's making progress after that. Ciel begins to share more things with her he's only shared once before with Sebastian.

(Yet, it doesn't really stop, no. There's more lingering underneath the surface.)

It still has a tendency to _bother_ her. It irks her when Ciel will compare her to Lady Elizabeth without even thinking it over first. It's a nasty habit he's not taking seriously.

Yes, it's true that she and Elizabeth may both have green eyes, and they're both gentle and sweet while confronting Ciel, and they both have been dedicated to protecting the ones they love. Nevertheless, it's not as if Elizabeth defines what a woman is these days.

Ciel's basically too preoccupied with his inner turmoil to notice any real problem that isn't his own. Thus, Sieglinde retracts a little. She gradually starts to _show_ him what's wrong instead of _telling_ him outright. For when it comes to Lady Elizabeth, Ciel's viewpoints all become biased. He would have no outward perspective like she does. And, well, she honestly doesn't know how to explain this to Ciel without sounding childish and insecure herself, or without him coming off cold and selfish.

This shouldn't even _be_ a concern, though. Sieglinde waits. She wants to see if it will bother him too.

She struts into the dining room that night, wearing red and white accents on her person, with her hair curled up tight around the base of her neck in place of letting it flowing out behind her. Ciel does a double-take at her, and his widening stare is secretly worth it.

She's not Elizabeth in that sense either. She remembers Elizabeth being the lively, dramatic, expressive type. Elizabeth laughed openly, and she cried on spot when she was upset, and her thoughts were heard clearly and loudly, and now, she was bold enough to stand up to the Queen's Court.

Sieglinde knows she's not exactly the same. She knows the rhythm of her own personality. She's more _practical_ in a way, more private, more guarded. Whereas Elizabeth is the proud lioness in this story, she's more-so the wandering wolf. Forever hovering, watching, observing, stalking, never straying too far from the grounds that are marked hers. Sieglinde can hold her tongue and remain utterly icy-calm and distant, and Ciel may have to dig a little deeper to know what she's actually thinking in return.

She doesn't prefer to think that she's _just_ Elizabeth's replacement, or that she's even another living _version_ of Elizabeth. No offense to the Lady Elizabeth herself; although, Sieglinde doesn't desire to be _associated_ with her in that way. She is Sieglinde. That is the only fact that rightfully applies to her.

And Sieglinde won't lie to herself. There is personal surge of pleasure and gratification she gets after each bewildered glare or sigh Ciel grants her.

Now it's her turn to play. She just beams right back at him, and leans in for a kiss. His mouth is still slightly agape with awe and she merely deepens the kiss, seductively, with her tongue, but it's simply for a moment or two long. He fidgets with his hair when it's done, and she bats her lashes silently at him and walks away smirking.

 _Has your little Lizzy ever done that?_

That next day, Ciel is obviously avoiding her. He stays hidden in his study, with both doors closed shut, and he's only willing to interact with Sebastian and no one else.

Bard's confused. Finnian hates it. Mey-rin shrugs at it.

Sieglinde reassures all of them that Ciel is not ill, that he's just fine. Plus, she shouldn't be that shocked herself. Whenever Ciel cannot face a dilemma on his own, his butler becomes _more_ than his butler. Sebastian also becomes his teacher, his advisor, his main confidant all in one.

She isn't even that shocked when Sebastian confronts her about it over her afternoon tea after Ciel stands up and excuses himself to go work alone once more.

"Countess..." the black butler begins with, his voice stern and level, "are you unhappy?"

Sieglinde blinks. "Unhappy? With what?"

"With the Master."

"No, of course not," she retorts. "Can't he tell the difference?"

"We all want you to be happy here, Countess Phantomhive," he stresses, stiffening briefly. "Nothing has changed in your decision, has it?"

"No, I am the same as I've always been, Sebastian. I am Sieglinde. That is all."

"Yes, Countess, very well." He stretches a pleased smile across his lips and he bows, whirling away from her.

The following night—Sieglinde knows it's risky, and maybe a little careless on her part—but she does it anyway. When a tired Ciel comes in for bed and closes the heavy oak door behind him, she's there waiting for him, stripping off her undergarments and she instantly grabs him by the shoulders without even a simple hello. She guides him backwards toward the edge of the bed, settling him down in front of her. She uses her knees, coaxing him to stay put.

Ciel's more awake now again, re-jolted to full awareness by the sudden rush. She slips off his vest, rips at his tie, and lifts his shirt over his head before he can protest, because he typically does. He's picky about his _shirts_ of all things, and _where_ she's allowed to touch him...that is, if he'll let her touch him at night to begin with.

Tonight, however, she disregards his rules and normal requests. She's spent the whole evening pondering over this, planning and summoning the nerve to overcome these obstacles, and she's made her choice. _Yes, yes_. Tonight (if it's truly only for tonight) there'll be no _shouldn't's._ No _don't's_.

Ciel's totally shirtless under her fiery gaze and Sieglinde swears that she can even see him shiver momentarily. He's stunned, frozen, speechless, and feeling exposed. She lowers herself across his lap gracefully, straddling him. Her arms circle his neck.

"Sieglinde—," he manages to get out once her mouth was just a mere whisper away from his. Her fingers are still active, brushing right over the shape of the brand that's singed into his flesh. "S-stop. Wait. What are you trying to—"

"Ciel—" she replies patiently.

"I told you to never—"

"Ciel," she repeats, grabbing his cheeks, and again, he falls utterly still and rigid beneath her own weight. Her gaze bores straight into his. "Shh. It's alright. It doesn't bother me."

 _See how different from your Lizzy I can be? I'll find out what you're hiding and I won't be afraid._

His eyelids lower; then she pushes against him, and they slide back across the bedding, with her lying on top of him.

That night ends with her winning her prize once more, with them breathing and thriving together as one, halfway in between shadows and candlelight.

The midday sun eventually rises at this hour, and the light slips through the curtains. Pulling herself upwards, Sieglinde instantly reminds herself that she did it for their marriage. They deserve a chance to evolve into something greater, do they not? Intimacy and understanding are important for couples.

The slope of her bare shoulder lightly bumps Ciel's as she has the urge to stretch out her bent legs tangled up within the sheets.

Her gaze refocuses, and it lands on the ceiling of their shared canopy. Ciel is still sound asleep on his opposite side, with his scarred back facing her. He sleeps so deeply and so stiffly these days that he might as well be lying in an open casket she thinks. There's nothing really attractive when he's this way, almost hugging himself subconsciously, shielding himself from the outside world, head tucked against his pillow.

Sieglinde contemplates some more. Fear is dreadful, and ugly, especially when it's deep-seeded like it is in Ciel. She sighs. She's never brought that particular subject up yet, but she has to be _blind_ to not see that his hair color is not quite right for someone his age. It's _grey,_ like an old man's, like time has not been kind to it. It must've turned grey from whatever trauma he'd face before they had met.

A silent, scarring fear like Ciel's is the worst. But, regardless, she seduced him for _their_ benefit. This is politics. Politics are complicated and raw, and it's up to her to make the best of it, to try and fit emotion into this pattern however she can. No matter how long it takes to become a _real,_ non-pretend couple without these horrible secrets, they'll continue this routine, waking in the morning bare, muscles sore and sweaty, until they're not afraid anymore.

She will remain Sieglinde, and _this_ is her life. Their life. Together with Ciel, forever intertwined. Right? She's not letting them waste it. She's not letting him waste her.

And eventually, finally... _finally_ , there's a newfound understanding between them, if he won't treat her like she's Elizabeth, then she won't dwell on the past and ask him hurtful questions.

Soon after, the matter of Edward Midford's birthday celebration comes up in conversation.

Sieglinde trains her features to appear appropriately interested while Ciel, Prince Soma, Snake, and Sebastian, all discuss how to make their anticipated appearances at Midford Mansion and how to find the right sort of gifts for Edward.

She sits quietly in her own chair at the dining table on the end and glances down at the beautifully-sent invitation again. Her thoughtful gaze skims over the names and scheduling and she asks nothing about Elizabeth. None of them do.

A distinctive hiss breaks her concertation and Sieglinde notices Emily slithering across the table in front of her, weaving her way up her arm. The she-serpent's tongue flicks out on Sieglinde's ear, and she smile, realizing how much it tickles. "Why hello, Emily."

Emily merely continues her set path, climbing higher and going around Sieglinde's shoulder blades, then descens her other arm. Sieglinde keeps watching as Emily's yellow belly gently hits the polished surface of the table once more, returning to her charmer's welcoming embrace. Sieglinde glances up at Snake, who is suddenly dead-focused on her as well, studying her face, hypnotized and he seems to forget there are other people in the room with them for a long moment.

She turns her cheek, clearing her throat and she excuses herself from breakfast. Ciel's trademark cunning stare follows her all the way out.

That upcoming Sunday, she arrives at Edward's celebration with Ciel nonetheless, because it's strictly business...and besides, the fresh chocolate shipped in from France is to die for. And her weak-spot for Ciel doesn't help her avoid it either. She'll greet the Midford family with every pinch of dignity and civility she has to give them, despite what they may think of her in return.

Ciel takes her hand then and properly reintroduces her to Francis Midford, the Marchioness.

Elizabeth's mother—is the most intimidating one of all—just by how she calmly compliments Sieglinde's chosen hairstyle for the occasion first and then subtly drops the hint that _Elizabeth_ never favored to let her own hair hang so straight down like that. Sieglinde can feel Ciel grimace beside her. But Sieglinde squeezes his hand once for comfort, peering back at the Marchioness evenly. "Thank you for inviting us," Sieglinde responds, and Francis nods at her sharply, leaving them with that.

Edward is currently standing across the hall, surrounded by a few close friends and fellow college men.

Ciel releases her hand, and Sieglinde peaks over at her husband who is now engaging in a serious glare-down with his oldest cousin before he goes and leaves her there, strolling forward. She opens her mouth to suggest maybe speaking to Edward today is the wrong idea since it is his birthday and all, but, she immediately feels Sebastian's hand press down on her shoulder to silence her plea. She turns and looks up at him. He motions her to stay, and reluctantly she recoils from Ciel, observing the whole ordeal from afar. Edward lingers there, in the middle of his five-way conversation, and his present glower deepens. Apparently he knows Ciel has something important to say to him and he's not going to run and hide today.

So once Ciel reaches him with a clear sense of purpose, the other boys seem to get the signal and they all step off to the side, letting the two of them talk in private. Sieglinde can't hear anything. But Ciel's mouth is moving. It's probably a question he's asking, because Edward soon shakes his head for _no_ and offers Ciel a short side-comment in return.

Ciel appears to be disappointed by whatever Edward's answer was. He's apprehensive; just like that, like a snap of a whip. Edward Midford is somehow (unknowingly) undoing the all the progress she's made this far, and now Ciel is going be plagued by Elizabeth's whereabouts all over again.

Feeling privately disgruntled by this outcome, she turns around, slips past Sebastian calling after her but she doesn't listen to him. She flits back out into the dimmed corridor, ruffles swishing as she runs, and she stops finally, hand pressing upon the wall to catch her breath.

All of this is so absurd! She's only heard these sort of things taking place in dramatic novels! The love triangles, the straying husband, the brokenhearted wife, the family house falling to sin and shame!

 _It's Royal Politics, indeed_ , she thinks sadly.

"Emily says Ciel's wife is distressed."

Sieglinde gasps and watches Snake emerge from the shadows nearby, drawn out by her presence. "Oh. You're not enjoying the pary either?" she asks, attempting to coat her voice in sweetness.

"Just too many people around us today, says Oscar. Too many vibrations. Too many eyes."

"I suppose that's true."

"So...," Snake continues gently, "Why is Ciel Phantomhive the object of your displeasure, says Emily?"

"Excuse me?" Sieglinde gapes. The two serpents start twisting around Snake's stain collar at a faster pace. "And what makes you three think that I am...displeasured?"

"To us it is more obvious, says Emily again."

"Well...that is my concern," she tells Snake directly. "Not Emily's."

The charmer shrugs. "We care for you, says Oscar. You are a friend."

And then Sieglinde melts on the spot, heart enlightened by those words. That is literally the nicest thing she's heard all month, if not longer. Blushing slightly, she takes a couple steps closer to them and inwardly notes that Snake is uniquely attractive himself. "To be honest...my friend...," she glances over her shoulder to make sure they won't be overheard by someone else, "...Ciel isn't the _actual_ problem..."

That next morning, Sieglinde has this throbbing ach to ask the butler something. "Sebastian, do you miss having Lady Elizabeth here?"

Hw seems to have no huge reaction to this for he simply inhales. "Why are you so curious about her?"

"Because, I can't help to wonder about her," she insists. "I think Ciel misses her more than he will admit to us. Is it too different having me here instead, in her place? Is it disagreeable?"

"Countess Phatomhive, I—"

"My name is Sieglinde," she demands, prompting him.

"Sieglinde," he repeats unwearyingly. "I am not too keen on sharing the Master's own private matters when he's not here. You should speak with him."

She certainty wants to, she wants to have better communication with Ciel overall. Though, again, that's easier said than done. Speaking with Ciel about his true feelings and his past is not a simple task. It's a chore, it's a lot of hard work for the little amount she might hear. Emotional healing is journey that takes time. Rushing him won't help her in any way. He'll just shut her out altogether if she does that.

And it's too late for second-guessing. What is done is done. Living as Countess Phantomhive is one long experience Sieglinde cannot forget, and she's already entangled within Ciel's world, and it was so fascinating and so interesting at the start of their newfound friendship.

But at the present, it's become...mundane. Tedious. He reads papers, she eats breakfast. He and Sebastian go off and run _special_ errands somewhere in secret, she studies her books in the library and works on collecting her herbs and her cauldrons. Ciel returns home, Wolfram and Mister Snake eat supper with them, then Ciel locks himself in the upstairs study for a few hours straight each night; half the time, she doesn't know if he'll make it to bed or not.

The sun sets and rises, marking another day, and another, and another.

Her head is spinning endlessly in circles with weekly women meetings, public donations, colorful hats and ruffled gowns and shiny buckled shoes, and Ciel's hollow kisses in cold empty manor corridors, and the sweet melodies of Sebastian's magical violin.

* * *

Elizabeth has bad blood.

She can feel it in her gut, flowing in her bones; and worse of all, that blood spreads throughout their entire family. She can recognize that.

First, it began with her esteemed Uncle Vincent whom Elizabeth frankly recalls having an ego so large that could've filled the entire space of city's clock tower—and, of course there was her passive and docile Aunt Rachel—and well, Elizabeth sadly enough, remembers very little of her in comparison. Secondly, her once-beloved Ciel carries so many secrets now that it causes her to believe that if he should ever write all of them down on paper one day, it would result in a two-hundred-paged book. Then it was Madam Red, their Auntie Ann, who died tragically and quite unexpectedly, since for all they knew during that time she was in perfectly good health. And—Elizabeth has had her suspicions about that woman related to them only by marriage—was it an accident, her death? Probably not. She wore too much red to go unnoticed. Although why would Elizabeth scream murder when the proof she needed was not there?

Nowadays, Elizabeth and Francis have been bickering too, regularly arguing on how to raise a daughter in perfect seclusion. Tensions at House Briar have been simmering over the top the last few visits. And it's come to the point where Francis won't get anymore involved unless Elizabeth shall ask her first. Her father Alexis is becoming too tired and too tame at Midford Mansion to change it. He cannot play a good peace-maker between his the joy of his life and his precious jewel when they're living under two separate households. Then, naturally, there's her dear Edward. Her brother is the only living relative left who Elizabeth can actually tolerate speaking to without any real hostility rising, but, even he spends his own private time at home stressing or obsessing over Ciel on her behalf.

Even as the days fly by, Elizabeth's still not entirely _blinded_ by her maternal love. Her treasured Melania Grace is the final indication, the ultimate clue that their family roots are not normal. Paula and Judith have agreed to use the term _different_ when it comes to describing the child. Their family is not like other families. Never have, and it never will be now.

So, taking everything into account, it's all of them.

The whole Phantomhive-Midford clan is officially and utterly spotted, spattered, tainted by this haunting past they never talk about. Even if Elizabeth still loves this (vile, corrupt) family of hers as much as her heart will allow her to, her love for them is also tainted by effect.

Infected, poisoned, and all consuming.

And, this right here, is the very first lesson Melania is bound to learn on her own.

Love in this family _is_ different. It's deadly.

Death falls behind them, dropping one corpse at a time and the tales that are left untold settle within their walls, and they seal up the cracks and no one dares to speak of it. No one murmurs anything about the darkness lurking around them. There's no telling if that could make it strike.

Elizabeth is the Daughter of the Knights after all. She's seen as a sheer genius when holding a sword. Warfare is her real strength. She's survived a shipwreck, she has slain walking dead beings with her skills, she's been drenched in blood that wasn't her own.

Why, oh, why does Queen Victoria long for more of them to be born?

Their legacy is not going to be England's redemption. Nay, they are the land's cursed fruit.

Can they not see that? Are they truly that unfeeling, that daft, that dull?

Elizabeth must filter this out of her system before she breaks down and starts to eat her own hair.

She goes over and lifts Melania up to her chest, sits down on her bed with her, and begins to document in her journal hastily.

* * *

Later on at House Briar, Edward runs his palm over his face and grinds his teeth. His sister is jabbing him for answers. Elizabeth won't stop asking about Ciel's latest letters.

"He's in charge of getting you back now," he confesses.

"Well, pull him over to our side," she protests. "Tell him to do it for me."

"It can't be that easy. He's still the _Watch Dog_ , Lizzy! He only heeds the Queen's call."

"Let me write to him, then!"

"Don't you dare! Take care of Melania first. Isn't that we settled on?"

"Well, at least, you should ask him if _he_ thinks it's safe for me to come back. That'll stall him. As emotionally-detached as he's become over the years, he still hated it when _I_ was in harm's way. Let's see say what he says to that."

"Alright, alright."

Grinning in triumph, Elizabeth hooks her arm through his as she leads him into Melania's nursery. "You're going to look as old as Father, brother, if you keep tensing up like this all day long. And I can tell you didn't even comb out your hair this morning. You look like a feral cat that got splashed with water."

"Me?" he shoots back, briefly poking her cheek. "You're already getting wrinkles here!"

"Oh, stop it," she says, bending over the bassinet. "I am not."

Edward watches Elizabeth raise Melania up into her arms and wrap the toddler blanket tightly around her. Melania's dark lashes flutter open, her young inquiring gaze landing on him. Soon, she reaches her fingers out, beckoning him.

On instinct Edward mimics her, lifting his hand to her as well, allowing her to take hold of it. Her skin's warm to the touch as usual. "Maybe we _are_ getting old, sis. We just don't know it."

Elizabeth laughs at this. "What are you on about?"

"Well...Melania still looks small, too small compared to us. It seems as if she's not even aging at all. So, what does make us exactly?"

"She's fine!" Elizabeth looks away, studying her daughter's profile. "Some babies are just smaller than other babies. It takes more time for them to grow into their legs."

"Maybe that runs in the family; she's going to be like Ciel. Forever naturally short for her size."

"Edward Midford!" Astonished by that deliberate cutting remark, Elizabeth's jaw drops open. "You know very well I don't find that humorous!"

"Then why are you smiling?" He smirks back at her. "It made you smile."

"I am not! I'm appalled!"

"You're smiling!"

Elizabeth draws herself backwards still holding Melania and turns on her heel, going out the door with her. "You're incorrigible!"

"And you're _still_ smiling!" he sing-songs after her.

* * *

Within three additional months of constant waiting, the Queen's Court representatives finally order to speak with Alexis and Francis in person. No exceptions.

As her husband stands trial, the Marchioness personally scans over the collection of proud and assertive faces, male and female alike, all arranged a neat row before her up in their golden chairs.

She spots Ciel and his wife, with Sebastian, sitting at the very end of the curve.

Fists clench and shoulders grow taught when they must clarify the urgent need to know _when_ the Lady Elizabeth would be returning home to their highborn circles of society and will be married off.

Ciel awkwardly glowers at nothing in particular once this is requested.

Alexis however, inhales another deep breath. It's the fourth one he's taken in during the past thirty seconds. "Ladies and Gentleman of the High Court...I only have left to tell you that, Elizabeth's medic has been examining her state of health lately and recently has expressed greater concern to withhold her. Permanently at House Briar, perhaps."

Dismayed, the hum of upset whispers surge down the cluster of the representatives. Ciel even grows pale.

"Although if you are willing to listen, we do have a solution," Alexis calls out over the sound. "Our family has a proposal for you. A compromise. Pleas consider a substitution. Have our Edward marry and produce the heirs you ask for. Why have the daughter when you can have the firstborn son?"

Francis looked up at the back of her husband's head, impressed by his bravery and straightforwardness, knowing he has just improvised that answer on the spot.

Everyone stared him down intently.

If that's the plan now, then Edward must have be informed of it within the hour. Francis thinks it over again quickly though, and she improves of it. It may work. Edward is in the position, more or less, to act at a slower pace and he wouldn't have the Council breathing down his neck. If he remains in the public's eye, puts on a show like always, seduces a girl, there'll be less suspicions or blame sent out their way.

* * *

Ciel sits at his desk, fingers splayed and pressing hard into his temple. With Edward stepping forward now to replace Elizabeth in this breeding campaign...his attempts to ease Elizabeth out of House Briar feel rather pointless today.

The Queen _is_ evaluating Edward as her next target, precisely as his parents have openly arranged. But she wants Ciel to try for Elizabeth again, one last time, for extra measure. Just in case.

Eventually he reaches for a new pen and begins to write.

 _If the Lady Elizabeth's party doesn't release her to appease the Queen within two days, then I will be forced to_

...To what?

Ciel hesitates. He scratches the threat out furiously, guessing that he shouldn't be handling Elizabeth and Edward in the same way he would handle a serious business opponent—then, he balls up the parchment, throwing it off the desk. His following sample is shorter, informal, and straight to the damn point— _Bring her back now, Edward._

Nevertheless, even that won't be enough; it's still not pleasant sounding, so of course it won't make the Midford siblings feel welcomed back home if he demands it of them like this.

He balls that sheet of parchment up too and throws it in the same direction as the first one.

He leans over the desk again, shifting into the frustrated stance he was in minutes before, pressing at his temple.

No more wasting time.

"Sebastian!"

Upon calling, the demon strolls back into the room to check in on him. "Yes, Master?"

"Go up north tomorrow, to House Briar. And don't be seen or get caught. I just want to know what is there and who is there. Try to figure out _why_ Elizabeth really won't leave. It's been too much time for her to be away and all of this is getting ridiculous. That's an _order_."

The demon grins and bows down real low. His eyes are blazing red.

"Yes, Master."

* * *

Edward first meets Leonora Ann Stoneleigh at tonight's social gathering, the one hosted for the Knights and their relatives.

The girl is not downright beautiful; because Edward believes no one's perfect, but Leonora is still...plainly sweet to look at, if anything. She has a defined heart-shaped face, full of tiny golden freckles, and rich copper-brown curls, and she has dark blue eyes like the sea, and has two crooked teeth in her smile.

Overall she's polite and collected, and respectably clever with history books.

* * *

"Master."

Ciel ceases his pacing around the room. "...Don't just stand there in the doorway, Sebastian. Speak."

"Yes, Master. I have counted four inhabitants currently at House Briar."

"Who are they?"

"There's Lady Elizabeth of course, then Master Edward was there as well. Then, I saw a tall dark-headed woman in uniform I've never seen before. I gather she is the real medic the Midfords had mentioned before."

"And who's the fourth?"

"You see, Master...that's where...it all becomes more curious, and dare I say it...perhaps it's more fathomable in terms of explaining all the riddles behind this?"

"Really?" Ciel discords. "How so?"

"There's a child."

A spiteful chill crawls along Ciel's spine and it settles in his stomach. "What child?"

Sebastian waits.

"Well?"

"Evidently, Master, it's Lady Elizabeth's child."

* * *

The next time Edward and Leonora Ann happen to meet again, a month later, she and Edward engage in longer conversations ranging from the growth of electricity, to the legends of King Author, to Anne Boleyn's personal role in the downfall of King Edward VIII.

Pretty soon, Edward is visiting House Briar less and less these days because of Leonora Ann, and Elizabeth understands his priorities are changing, and she won't be the one to hold him back.

But Edward made his vows to his niece as well and he says Leonora Anne must be willing to become the flexible one if he continues to court her. Melania comes first.

* * *

Melania learns to speak her first words; words like, _"Bird,"_ and _"Dark,"_ before she physically learns to walk. So clearly, Elizabeth and Edward both know for certain now that something else is...wrong, _different_.

The child's mind is aging quicker than her body is growing. And her deep, deep, deep, brown-almost-black eyes are too alert, too keen, and too cold in nature most days.

Melania doesn't care much for pampering or sweet toddler talk, and she hardly laughs. She just sits there, keeping to herself, and rolls over onto her belly when she has nothing left to do.

Though as the seasons change and snow falls over the country, Melania is able to move on her own two feet...but it's not a _gradual_ thing like Elizabeth assumes it would be. No, in fact, it's abrupt and swift and agile, and Melania becomes a current expert in just getting up off the floor and walking out of the room whenever their attention becomes too focused on her.

Then, in the following months, when Springtide arrives, Melania starts to throw fits. She tosses and turns and thrashes under her quilts in the dead of night, and she usually rouses and runs into Elizabeth's bed frequently, shaking her mother awake, as if she has something very important to tell her. But she just can't get the right words out.

That's when Melania grows more frustrated when they can't understand her silences, or body language, or her three-word ramblings. They don't know what she wants or what she needs, and that harsh cycle just keeps turning. She begins to swat at them with her feet or hands if she's displeased.

Finally. Finally. Finally _._ Melania becomes more vocal around them, more _noisy_ —although regrettably, most of those noises are _screams_ —no tears, just screams—shrieks and wails—long, low, and forceful ones that will actually dry out her throat for a few hours straight after she tires herself out.

By this point, Judith and Elizabeth have grown accustomed to the consistent clattering of china breaking, mirrors crashing, and chairs being kicked down.

Elizabeth, similarly, is at her wits end. She has to isolate herself in her private washroom for about ten minutes per day just to _cry_ before she can recover her composure and return to the company of her miserable daughter.

When Melania actually turns one year old, Judith comes in her chambers during the night and suggests a religious sort of cure to help them.

"Send for a priest and have the house blessed. It's not unheard of for families to have that done when a new house is bought." she promises Elizabeth, attempting to rock a fussy Melania to sleep. "Either that, or have her baptized. Just try _something_. Prayers do wonders if you're willing to believe in them. Maybe that's what the child needs. More structure. A stronger sense of morals to stand on."

"So be it." Edward gives in, squeezing his sister's hand beside him. "We'll leave those arrangements to you."

* * *

In short, with guilt-ridden hands, Ciel's final letter written to Queen Victoria herself is him ambiguously placing in his vote for Edward to be the Council's new heir provider.

* * *

The surrounding air is cool.

Edward and Leonora Ann sit beside one another on a garden bench that overlooks the stormy sea. They listen to the waves come crashing against the bluff ahead. There is thunder booming somewhere in the distance behind them.

"It's beautiful," Leonora Ann decides when she reaches out for his hand. Their fingers interlace. "Sitting out here right before the storm starts. It's a little terrifying, but it is beautiful."

"My sister loves to watch a storm," Edward mutters in reply, studying the darkened horizon. "...When we were children...she'd usually sit as close to the window as she possibly could and watch the wind blow the trees over and she'd laugh each at the lightning flashed. She even begged Mother to go outside to dance in the rain once."

Leonora smiles at this. "And did she ever, dance in the rain?"

"No, of course not. Mother said it was not appropriate."

"I'd love to meet your sister soon," she responds wistfully. "I've seen her before at parties...but I'd still like to speak with her. I can see how important she is to you."

Edward nods. "She is currently involved with...other circumstances at the moment and it's best not to disturb her. Though hopefully one day, you two can talk and become friends. She'd love you. I know it. Until then, please just be patient. My family is not so ordinary, Lonny. It'll take time to adjust. I'd hate it if we'll make run you off so soon."

In the end, Leonora Ann leans closer to him and places a chaste kiss to Edward's cheek. He turns his head towards her then, looking humbled, and his lips capture hers.

"You're family made you who you are," she whispers as they break apart, "so why would I run?"

"You're really not worried at all...about the rumors, about what the Queen wants? About what her Court wants from me?"

Biting her inner cheek in genuine thought, Leonora comes to rest her hand over his chest and offers him another brief kiss. "So far...my routine has been fairly boring, Edward. I wake, I eat, I study, then I sleep. I have no true friends to rely on, only peers to read with...so, in truth, you might just make my life a bit more interesting."

* * *

Father Conway, a middle-aged priest originally from Judith's hometown in Wales, dressed all in back with silver medallions hanging around his neck, is reasonably understanding of Edward's concerns. He justly lives up to his holy reputation and he's very used to traveling, which Edward likes.

"The child...," Edward simplifies everything after their long carriage ride up north and a prolonged description of Melania's oddness, "...we don't hate her. We could never hate her. But our medic is now at a loss. There's no clear illnesses to be seen and we can't determine what else could cause Melania to be so just deeply...troubled. We were hoping that a blessing of some sort would help in some way. The Asylum is out of the question. My sister would never go through with it."

They're instantly greeted by Elizabeth at the front door. "Father, this is my sister, the lovely Lady Elizabeth." And Elizabeth just cheers for him and says how grateful she is for Father Conway coming all the here.

"No matter, no matter. Do not fret about my travels! I've come to help, not judge. So, my dear, where's the child?"

Gesturing towards the sunroom off to her right, Elizabeth invites him to follow her in. "She's right in there, Father. Please, come."

Edward takes the lead as soon as they reenter the sunroom to find the girl sitting crossed-legged upon the throw rug, silently brushing a doll's hair that resembled her own. He carefully walks around her, coaches down and coaxes her to spin around to face them, his hand smoothing out her curls. "Here is our little Melania, Father." The child doesn't pull away from Edward's touch, but she hardly react to it anyhow. "We have company, Melly Grace."

Melania looks up at Conway, firm and evasive. Her eyes stir something in him. It's not pleasant.

He releases a shuttering breath then. Somehow, whether it's his years of dedication to the Bible, or his higher Calling altogether...somehow, he _knows_. He can sense it.

The girl...is not what he expected to encounter today above all other possibilities.

Panicked, Elizabeth notices the immediate change in his expression already and blurts out, "What is it?"

"How old is she now, Lady Elizabeth?"

"Just over a year."

Conway stares at Melania yet, who steps sideways, away from Edward's reach and slinks over to her mother, trying to avoid the him at all costs. She hugs at Elizabeth's gown, burying her face halfway into the green satin folds. "...Dear child...," he breathes out, "...never in my entire career did I actually imagine coming face to face with something like this."

"Something like what?"

"Lady Elizabeth, this child has a...a darkness inside of her." Conway concludes evenly, and he doesn't make any sudden movements. "I can feel it."

Elizabeth sounds very skeptical now. "A darkness?"

"Well, something's wrong, Lizzy!" Edward hisses back at her. "He's our last chance."

"May I just observe the child?" Conway advocates quickly. "Alone?"

Elizabeth gets flustered, puzzled by the startling twist in events. "Ah, I don't think she'll—I mean, it's just—I—"

"Yes," settles Edward for her, swiftly pulling Elizabeth under his arm, urging her into the adjacent room, leaving Melania there to watch them go. "Take your time, Father."

Left there to fend for herself, the child turns back to the priest, not uttering a single sound, before she glances back at her forgotten doll.

Thus, over the course of nearly two hours, Conway watches Melania in her own environment, reveling in her own playtime and patterns, meanwhile keeping a safe distance from her _._ The girls doesn't speak and most of the time she barely even looks up from the doll or toy horse she has laying nearby _. Though, once,_ she does finally lift her head towards him, and Conway bends to his knees, scooting towards her carefully and he reaches out. He's immediately countered by a scowl and Melania growls out a mean, low, throaty _"No!"_ as she drops her toys and backs away into the nearest corner behind them, like a fox trying to hide from a hunting hound sniffing around.

Elizabeth walks in, and Melania steals this chance to get away from him and run back into her mother's arms.

"Supper is ready, Father. Join us now, won't you?"

Conway complies and continues to follow the family's schedule for that evening. He notices how the child doesn't seem sleepy when the sun sets or doesn't cry about being hungry as they all eat at the table.

(Perhaps she doesn't need to, he notes to himself; her body can probably sustain itself to a higher degree than theirs can. And it's uncanny, it's inhuman.)

Supper is cleared and for the second time, Father Conway requests to be left alone with Melania for a few extra hours overnight.

The medic and Edward grant him that much, while coaxing the Lady Elizabeth to go upstairs with them.

By dawn, he eventually reemerges with some books in one hand and a beaded Rosary in the other, and he gently sits Elizabeth down in the drawing room in front the burning hearth.

"See. According to what I saw here...the child is not be mortal...at least not fully mortal as you and I are. That would explain her peculiarities, and also _yours_ , Milady. Your brother has told me that this child was unexpected, correct? You cannot remember the night of Melania's conception. As far as you can tell, you were merely...with child, just like that, without answers, without planning."

Elizabeth swallows hard and nods.

"Dark spirits cause chaos, Milady. Demons. Myth has that they may appear to us as men in black on the surface." Conway continues his preaching. "Demons have this main goal is to grieve you, to destroy what you love, to bend your trust. Their deceptions know no bounds. And I doubt that your daughter, who was made by such things, knows how to exist in our present without this knowledge. She's lost...for lack of a better term."

Men in Black. She knows a man who is _drenched_ in black. Elizabeth figures that Sebastian can come off...unusual, and aloof, and mysterious. He's intimidating to who meet him for the first time and he just seems...so...so detached from this world in certain ways they aren't. It all makes sense now. The black coat, black hair, brown-nearly-black eyes that shimmered red at odd angles...and Ciel's inseparable bond with him! It's all very...like _Doctor_ _Faustus_ now, as she has these ideas fill in the gaps perfectly. At last, she sees the whole picture for what it truly is. Ciel suffered during the entire month he was gone, then when returned, he was hollow, harsh, and inwardly disturbed. _No wonder he never smiles_. How could a sweet boy like him smile when a dark spirit in the flesh trials his every footstep like that, always salivating down his neck?

But, the thing is, Elizabeth doesn't break into sobs. She can't even run out of the house, pleading to see Ciel.

She can't. She is just done. Finished, with all of it. The shock of clarity doesn't rip her heart in two. She's too tired for that. Melania has ultimately drained her of such hysterical thinking.

"...What a dreadful way to live," she mutters softly, though sourly. "...Not knowing _how_ to live as she is."

Her poor Melania. She has gotten the worst of the blow. She's basically paying for _her_ sins. And what takes many corrupted people here on Earth years to gain, regulate, and wield against their innocent victims—Melania was just born with naturally. That darkness. It's torturing her on the inside. _Good God._ What to do?

Conway bows his head in remorse towards her and exhales threw his narrowly straight nose. "These type of things are...beyond mankind, Milady. Powerful, and menacing. It isn't something that can be fixed so simply with one prayer and a snap of my fingers...but rather, we can hopefully contain them."

"How?"

"I think keeping her here is the wisest thing you've done so far, Milady. Distant her away from larger crowds while you still can. Then, let me baptize her tomorrow. Gift her with another piece of Heavenly Light to hold onto."

"Can you do that here?"

"Yes. If we have water, it's possible. Exceptions like these can be made."

"But, how _can_ you baptize her?"

"We can do it with faith, Milady, with faith."

"Alright, yes, you have my blessing." Elizabeth stands up slowly and reaches for her old Bible placed on the farthest bookcase in the room. "And, uh, one more thing...tell my brother and Judith that they must swear this will _not_ leave this house. I don't want my own parents to know, or anyone else. There's a demon out there, just as you pointed out, Father Conway, and he knows us by name. He's the one who did this to me and I don't want him to come looking for Melania either if the word gets out."

"Agreed."

* * *

Conway resigns from the Church he knows so well, requesting special leave to work at House Briar, northern England. For the family he's recently come to visit could really use his help in a dire case of life and death. The Devil's influences are at play in House Briar, so he very much would prefer to stay and see it through, however long it takes.

It's an unusual request, and even if the Church of Wales has had extremely limited experiences with real demonic possession and so forth, Father Conway was granted this duty, to aid the poor soul of Melania Grace.

For months, Conway struggles to form a genuine connection with the little demoness. Her baptism does wane the intensity a little, but just.

Fortunately though, she talks more in place of just shaking her head or turning away when she isn't comfortable around him. She can create fuller conversations with her mother, Judith, or the secondary handmaid Paula whenever she comes to see them. To add to that note, Melania now officially adresses Elizabeth as _'Mother'_ directly and openly, and she calls Edward _'Uncle_ ' as well. She no longer screams forcefully until her vocal cords give out, throwing things about the room. Melania even allows her _'Auntie Judith'_ to give her various herbal sedatives so she'll sleep better for longer periods of time.

On the other hand when there are pros, there will be cons still:

And Melania doesn't want to recite her prayers with him at night. She's hardly interested in his religious or philosophical teachings at all. Her occasional tantrums may resurface eventually, and they still run hot to cold, and, she rarely sits at the dining table to eat regular meals with them. She'll go without proper food for weeks on end until finally she collapses, numb and unconscious. Only then will Edward and Elizabeth be able to persuade her to bite into a fresh fruit or slice of wheat bread to get her though another few weeks.

Father Conway figures out what the _core_ issue is though. During her entire childhood thus far, Melania has been feeding off her family's pity. They love her, that's clear, but they often seem to forget that her— _her_ _difference in species_ —does not make her fragile, or stupid, or crippled. They enable her too, blindly spoiling her, treating her as though she's made of expensive glass.

Melania, truthfully, has an intelligence unlike anything he's ever seen in a child! She uses her wee network of people at House Briar as a personal shield whenever she pleases. Edward, Lady Elizabeth, Judith...they've all become her puppets on string unknowingly. All Melania has to do is pretend to be upset, start wailing and slip from his reach, running back to her mother's waiting embrace.

Yet, Conway hopes that he can ultimately use that wit of hers to _their_ advantage someday instead. Keeping Melania wise about human nature keeps her aware of humans in general, and keeping her aware of humans will keep that humanistic half of her alive to fight on.

It seems to be working too, little by little, which is of course better than not seeing _any_ improvement at all.

Once another full year hits its mark, Melania is done with trying to escape him nowadays.

In the end, she challenges him, and debates with him, and _confides_ in him, and asks him all the questions she can come up possibly with. Why this? Why that? How many? How long? At three, her mind is always reeling, attempting to piece her own jagged life together, to understand the Lord's Universe and how it all truly works.

Conway has even confronted Lady Elizabeth about taking Melania away for a while, just the two of them, in order to visit the abbey found in the next town over. He wonders if it'll be healing for her. Showing her the righteous path is worth it. And it's a fairly better atmosphere to learn in, at that.

Melania's actually curious and willing to go as she has never left the grounds of House Briar itself; and so with a heavy sigh, her mother approves.

The abbey becomes her haven, her schoolyard, and her playground.

Conway encourages self-discipline in the event that Melania won't have them there to coddle her anymore. He wants her to know how control her actions, as well as her emotions. If she falls to the floor with a childish thud, he urges to stand on her own and forget the wasted tears (not that she cries anyhow); if she feels like she's moving too fast and is about to crash into the stairwell, he reminds her about maintain a steadier pace. Sometimes going slow is better than rushing things along. Right away—even though it's untraditional and maybe a tad cruel—Conway prepares the girl to endure the dangers that await her later on in life. He doesn't exactly want her to become monotonous or downright heartless. Or to give into her demonic nature. That's not the point. But either way, if he can coax Melania to maintain her strength and hardiness to work against it, he sure will.

For, the harsh reality is, that Melania will be utterly alone one day, and her whole life may easily become a living nightmare, and she won't be able to wake up from this one.

She shall be totally independent since her mother can't always be alive to protect her. All she can do is survive—if that much—because really, Conway now speculates how does one raise a child demoness to become a human in a world where humans may act like monsters themselves?

Melania must decide that, when she's ready.

* * *

Sebastian's seen that concerned glare of Ciel's before and he suspects something bad took place. "Milord, has something happened?"

"Sieglinde," Ciel begins carefully. "She's with child."

Sebastian clicks his tongue quietly. "Oh, I see."

* * *

He first hears the Holy rites, rippling through the clouds, transcending space and time. And he stops, he listens, then he feels the distinct pull of a prevalent prayer, of a soul in anguish.

He soars down from the Heavens because it's a responsibility, a commitment, a Calling. Though he goes unseen, only visiting the Earthly realm in spirit.

Every soul deserves—no, every created soul is gifted—with salvation, and a Guardian Angel.

And someone, a devoted priest, was imploring him, actually beckoning him by name, to become the Guardian to—to—that thing.

He watches her, his allegedly newest charge. He can tell she's not all human. She has Darkness ghosting inside of her like a toxic mist. Now it makes sense. The priest has a strong heart, hoping that his own well-known Celestial power can challenge her for the best, and to guide her over to the Light to stay.

The half-breed girl has a grim past, and her future seems equally grim. Whether she thrives for greatness or for malice, he supposes it will lead to her own annihilation.

Truthfully, he has never felt so skeptical about a charge, so unsure. He's battled many a demon before, yes, and he has stood proud and tall in the presence of Lucifer himself long ago, but, he hasn't gained any experience with a demoness who was born with her own soul. That's a rarity to find within the Great Design itself.

He watches her interact with the said priest and watches her sneak outside late at night and race through the woods with the rabbits and the stag. It appears that's what she likes to do most. It sooths her, to an extent. She can taste a little piece freedom and she's learning how fast her feet can actually carry her.

Suddenly, she begins looking for him too. He can see her confusion and suspicion. She can sense when he's near her, but she doesn't know _what_ she's searching for exactly, or doesn't who whose eyes linger on her these days.

Upon a particularly cloud-filled afternoon, she's running barefoot through the trees along the abbey again in a simple white dress the monks gave her, her long dark curls free and flowing. She comes to a harsh skidding halt as he lowers himself in the air around her and she whirls in place, her eyes now a blazing red.

"Who's there?" she asks the empty forest.

He knows what she really wants to ask someone about it, but she's growing too impatient, too unprepared for his arrival. So, he'll wait for another day for introductions. The only response he is willing to give her is a simple, breathing, _"Yes...,"_ feather-light, riding on the wind.

* * *

At the beginning of that rainy summer, London celebrates the anticipated birth of Thaddeus Vincent Victor Phantomhive, the rightful heir to Ciel's legacy.

The Holidays come and go again and during the following summer, Elijah John Phantomhive is born, the second son, the follower, destined to learn to be his brother's friend and keeper.

Little Rachel is last in line, a year and five months later.

* * *

Ciel is fading, all of him. Slowly crumbling to dust.

His sanity is dwindling, his guilt is strangling him, his stress burns from the inside out, his sadness is swallowing him whole. There's no room for any degree of redemption any longer, and he basically lives in isolation now.

While he sits alone in the farthest tower of Phantomhive, surrounded by shadows, and drowns in his memories of Elizabeth and what he's done to her, Sieglinde is finished with him.

She's outside beneath the windowpane, feeling abandoned and vengeful and lonely because of him, and she's hastily kissing Snake under the moonlight even with her belly swollen with _his_ child.

Ciel doesn't blame her though. He doesn't feel.

* * *

Six years roll by.

Melania and Father Conway are due to arrive back home at House Briar on this very evening.

And when they do, Melania greets her mother with a warming embrace and as Elizabeth looks down at her daughter's youthful face in a mixture of surprise and strong maternal pride and yearning. She notices that Melania's eyes have changed. They're less dark and less callous, and now they're _green,_ just like hers are.

From the sideline, Edward's personally pleased with his niece too. Melania's visible progress in her character makes him think that he could finally bring Leonora Ann out here in his father's brand new automobile to meet everyone.

* * *

"This hostility seems to have passed now, somewhat," Alexis reflects expectantly as he stares at the strikingly beautiful sunrise, "with Edward and Lonny being with child now as well the Queen will be pleased to hear it tomorrow."

"Yes." Francis does not lift her sullen eyes from her steaming teacup. There are just some things a woman doesn't say about other women over breakfast. She does not share the knowledge of the Young Countess Sieglinde bleeding out and losing Ciel's latest child two nights prior to this. That's her second one. She only hopes that Leonora Ann won't endure that same pain...and, a smaller, darker part of her also can't help to wonder that...maybe...maybe it would have been better for everyone, overall, if Elizabeth had lost Melania before the birth?

* * *

A loose rat emerges from its hiding place and scurries along the stone mantel above hearth while Melania is practicing her forms alone in the house.

Fencing is not a daunting task for her at the age of nine. Her movements are smoother. Her hands are fluid and exceedingly sly. She can't be beaten. But she likes that and it's not boring winning all the time for her. That means she can achieve something without her falling into trouble around here, Judith thinks.

But when she sees the rodent exposing itself, she turns and throws her sword at it, sharp and hard. The weapon pierces the rat right through the belly, causing it to squeal in pain before it dies in no time.

Strolling over to retrieve her rapier, Melania catches the sight of the red. The dripping blood of the rat stains her blade as well as her fingertips as she has to pry them apart.

The dead rat is tossed out of the open window before she decides to fetch her mother's special polishing kit upstairs.

Rummaging around Elizabeth's room, she has little luck finding the little cheery-oak box she's searching for. It's not tucked away under the master bed, nor is it inside her mother's towering wardrobe. The only place Melania has left to look is her mother's writing desk. It has several drawers and compartments down each of its sides, so she assumes that perhaps her mother has replaced the box there, and just when Melania is about to turn away with a disappointed huff, something else happens to hit the floor, falling out into plain sight.

She gazes at the leather-bound item and shortly, she bends over to pick it up, observing the edges and the worn pages. "A dairy?"

* * *

At six years old, almost seven, Thaddeus already flaunts the personality of a future leader. The Phantomhive willpower runs deep within him; though, despite looking and sounding more like Ciel at first glance, he has his Sieglinde's dark green eyes, plus her kind of wits. He's inquisitive, kind, and fierce above anything else. He can both read and recite phrases in English, Italian, and French, and he keeps on learning.

Elijah, at five, resembles his elder brother greatly. He, too, has Sieglinde's eyes and Vincent Phantomhive's dark hair. In fact the two boys are often mistaken for being twins by the outside public. Based on their mannerisms alone however, they honestly cannot be more different. Elijah is falling behind his brother when it comes to languages and art. But he's not that dimwitted either. It just takes him more time...more patience to learn straight from the books or music sheets. Elijah prefers action, movement, something he can touch and feel and create with his own hands to improve. When Sebastian puts a training rapier in his hand for the first time, Elijah finally excels in an area his brother doesn't. He always wins at fencing.

The brothers' paths are clear and set out before them. They are not on identical paths, but they shall never part from each other either. The brains and the muscle.

As for Rachel, who has just turned four yesterday, is just a dainty shy bundle of white silky gowns and shimmering blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and soft golden curls. Being the only girl, plus the youngest, she's become the light and the center of the Manor household. She's a tiny echoing image of her late grandmother, the first Rachel Phantomhive and she's constantly doted on by the nine nursemaids that Ciel and Sieglinde have on staff now. These women are equally divided and were pre-assigned to each child's care since Tanaka has passed away and Sebastian tends to Ceil mostly, and because Ceil is in truth, though understandably, not the best father, and Sieglinde doubts her motherly instincts often due to the previous miscarriages. Therefore, assistance is child-raising at the Manor is needed. Rachel spends most of her toddler days humming songs to herself or playing with all the stuffed rabbits Ciel does offer to her on a rare moon. Once she's a bit older, Sieglinde intends to make up for their family flaws by teaching Rachel how to mix herbs and make homemade remedies from scratch like she can. She'll be just as efficient as any medic out there.

Oh, yet, what a dynamic they'll make together someday, these three new and approved Young Phantomhives.

And the Faustian Contract is shifting in the meantime, spiraling in a new direction, splitting, spreading.

The Phantomhive siblings are inevitably filling Ciel's role for the Queen, as planned by the Queen's Court.

They're becoming bound to a fate similar to his, to this curse. They will carry on his memory, meet his goals for a better England, stand under royal guidance, and seek out justice for lost innocence.

* * *

Another All Hallows Eve marks the night when Melania turns ten.

A decade's gone by already. The remaining leaves on the trees surrounding the grounds shine red and gold, and the soil is dusty from this year's harvest.

In silence, Elizabeth and Conway watch her from the large sheltered windowpanes of House Briar as Melania scurries outside, hopping down the front steps. She runs through the dying weeds, preoccupying herself with chasing the crows that always seem to loom over the house.

The black birds sing and squawk a peculiar sharp melody while they all flit and flutter in circles around her.

"Is she alright...when they're around her like that?" Elizabeth asks after a pause.

"I've taught her all she needs to understand herself. But I can't change what may find her out there."

* * *

Sieglinde eases herself towards the mantle, basking in the warmth of the fire. "The Holidays are not yet over, Ciel. Not exactly. It's still a time to love and to gather with dear ones. We could invite Elizabeth's family here this one time, if you wanted. It's been years since you even _spoken_ to—"

"No."

"Enough, Ciel." She breathes out, hands shaking briefly. "It's enough. Surely, we don't need to hide anything from them! Perhaps we could ask to visit them up north at House Briar."

"No. You hear me? I said no." Ciel demands this of her, gaze cold and voice stiff, almost on the verge of desperation. "As my wife, I beg of you, Sieglinde. Let them go. Just let the past go. Let it all go. I forbid you and the children for ever _thinking_ about going to House Briar. I _forbid_ you to ever seeking out Elizabeth again!"

She turns and stares back at him sitting there, wordless and awestruck.

Little do they know, all three of their shared children are already huddled at the doorway behind them, eavesdropping on the whole conversation, curious to understand why their parents act so strange sometimes around each other and why is this House Briar place so terrible?

* * *

Winter arrives and carries on in all its coldly might, until Queen Victoria now eighty-one of age, is pronounced on January 22nd.

Her famous reign and her last moments on this earth come to a final close at her Osborne House estate, over on the Isle of Wight.

Eye witnesses claim that her loyal Watch Dog was there during her passing along with her children and the grandchildren. The Queen's son, is fated to succeed her as King Edward VII. That's also the day that Edward humbly releases the Watch Dog of his duties to Victoria.

No one sees Ciel Phantomhive out walking in the public streets ever again after such a dramatic chain of events.

* * *

 **-.-**

 **Chapter specially dedicated to** **Brytte Mystere and emeraldd30**

 **-.-**


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